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the southern sentinel
IS PUBLISHED
EVEIIY THURSDAY MORNING,
IJY
T. LOMAX & CO.
TENHENT LOMAX Principal Editor.
dice on Randolph street.
Ciicrou) Dqm vim cut.
- - ■ - v. rH 1 ’ ■—•- 1 — ■==•
Conducted by CAROLINE LEE HEN TZ.
A Greeting to the Friends of the Sentinel.
Friends ol’ the fair and sunny South!
Not as a stranger gue.-t,
I ask admittance to your homes,
And welcome to your breast.
I know that many an eye, whose beam
May never flash on mine,
Oft gilds the page, whereon my hand
Has traced the glowing line.
With pride, with joy. my spirit owns
This bond with the unseen—
Soul greeting soul, heart meeting hcaii,
With hills and vales between.
And still my pride and joy shall be
This spirit bond to hold—
Which, though invisible, may prove
More strong than links ot gold.
Thanks for the f„-taring smiles that played
On “Linda's” heart, and gave
Light to the “Snow-Bird” as she skimmed
Across the ice-bound wave.
An i may those smiles, like sunbeam?, rest
Upon the “Long .Moss Spring”—
And to “Magnolia Vale,” their rays
Os heart-warm radiance bring.
The Sentinel —to many a heart
It comes a cherished friend ;
One, who to ho isehold joys could still
An added brightness lend.
Weekly companion of your homes—
Still let it claim your grace,
Nor forfeit one familiar glance,
One loved, remembered place.
The Sentinel —a noble name—
Sleepless, when others sleep ;
A watch-light set upon the hill—
A Pharos on the deep.
The Sentinel —its warning voice
Sh iil rise above the clin
Os fiction’s storm, and breathe its ban
On Error, Guilt and Sin.
And like the star, whose guiding beam
Chaldea’s shepherds led,
Anri held its silver lamp on high
O'er Bethlehem’s manger bed ;
The Sentinel shall light the way
Where Truth, the Immortal, dwells—
Whore Wi Mom, eldest bard of Heaven,
High themes ot glory tells.
May no dark clouds its path impede—
No mist oliseurc its ray—
But like the dawn-star may it shir.c,
Even to the period day.
I
•
THE SEX OF THE SOUL.
The question respecting the relative intel- j
lectual powers of men and women, is one
which has been {'ten agitated, hut never fullv
lesolvetl. Nor can it he, till the laws which
bind society together are changed, and both
sexes are subject to the same mental discip
line. In all ages of the world, there have j
been instances of women, whose expansive \
minds have hurst through the shackles which 1
prejudice and education have bound around j
them, and rising above the standard of their j
sex. have almost shamed by their rapid pro- |
gross in knowledge, the slower attainments j
of man. These, however, arc only luminous j
points, rendered more dazzling from the sur- ;
rounding dimness. Wo have never read of a !
nation ot women, transcending or equalling j
the masculine sex in intellectual vigor, for the i
general principles of education have never al- j
lowed this equality, and the first rules ini- j
pressed on the female mind are those which i
bind it to a more limited and peculiar sphere. I
Man is taught from his early boyhood, that he j
is the lord ot creation, formed to rule and com- j
inand, not by the exertion of brutal force, but
by the powers of a godlike mind. The mighty
principle of ambition is awakened within him
The great models of ancient days are placed
before hi.-.!. An undying thirst for fame, an!
unquenchable fire is lighted up in his breast.
His eye waxes dim over the classic page, bis
cheek grows pale over the midnight lamp.—
Yet his spit it taints not. The dews of Casta
ly refresh his feverish lips, the gales that are
wafted from the groves of Academus fan his
burning brow, lie comes forth from the
shades of his closet, rich in the lore of other j
days, to take his station amid the high places
of the earth.
He becomes the healer of disease, and day
and night lie is called upon to mitigate the
ills of suffering humanity, and to arrest the
mission of the Angel of Death.
He is the avenger of wrong, and while guilt i
trembles as the breath ol his eloquence sweeps
■over a listening throng, innocence lifts her
fair brow and blesses the vindicator of her in
jured lights.
lie is the minister of Almighty God;
“Through him the violated law speaks out its thunders, I
And through him, in strains as sweet as angels use,
The gospel whispers peace.”
Surely, the mind engaged in such high
pursuits, fixed on such noble aims, must have
Its best and greatest powers called into con
stant and powerful exercise. It has not time
to indulge in vanity, or frivolity, or inglorious
weakness. Its sphere is too vast, its objects
too multiplied, its duties too lofty and too j
commanding.
But \\ uat are too otten the teachings of
woman, from the cradle of infancy to the
bridal altar? What motives are presented
as the springs of her actions, what goal poin
ted out as the boundary of her ambition { Is
she not taught to shine and glitter, during the
ephemeral season of youth and beauty—to de
vote her irredeemable, time to the acquisition
of the lightest accomplishments—to the costly
adornment of her person—as if her frame were
immortal rather than her mind, her body im
perishable instead of her soul ? Is she not
educated to consider the admiration of the
other sex as the Alpha and Omega of her ex
istence, and that it is best obtained by the
possession of those airy grace', which Ct her
VOL. IIL
tor the halls of fashion, instead of the palaces j
| of Eternity •
‘‘lt you chance to have any mental supe*
| riority,” says a father, addressing his daugh
j ters, in a work devoted to the great principles |
of education, “be careful to conceal it from ‘
j the other sex, for man seldom forgives the |
intellectual superiority of woman.”
“The heart, ’’ says a celebrated writer, “is !
j the empire of woman—to man belongs the
i kingdom of the mind.”
Thus, so far from having the high facul
j ties of her soul called into exercise, like man,
i she is even told to hold down the aspirations
iof her intellect, which would spurn the
bondage of vanity and folly, rather than repel
j and alienate the being whom she was crea
ted to charm. With such a different system
i of education, it is impossible to measure out
j the exact quantum of mind which belongs by
j the righto! nature to either sex. It is in vain
| to biing it down to the strict rules of mathe- I
i . . j
! matica! science. .Mind, we verily believe, is 1
iof no sex It is the inspiration of the Alruigh- I
I tv, the burning breath of incarnate Deity.
! Mind is strengthened by use. The finest ■
1
j steel wears away in time, under the hand of
j the artist, but mind is indestructible and de
! lies the laws that govern material substances.
|ft is inexhaustible. The more you draw from
j the fountain, the deeper and purer are the
| waters. Within its lowest deep, there is a
j deep still lower, which no sounding line of
! thought has ever fathomed. It is elastic,
! expansive, like the air we breathe. Confine it,
i in too narrow a compass, it loses its life-giv-
I ing, life-sustaining principle. Remove the
■ pressure, it rises above the loftiest mountains,
j and Hies beyond the farthest seas.
Is not the mind of woman bounded bv edu- |
1 cation, and compressed by circumstances ?
| Let her overstep these limits, and see of what
! she is capable.
Catharine of Russia, the second imperial
Catharine, whose overmastering ambition
crushed every obstacle that opposed her path
to absolute dominion, completed a work, i
which even Peter the Great had omitted in \
the scale of lbs mighty operations. It was a ;
woman’s hand which formed and presented
a code of laws for the government of that
immense Empire—laws celebrated for their
wisdom and justice, and preserved in a gold-
I en vase, in the Imperial Academy at Peters
burg. While her weak, degraded husband
remained plunged in inglorious excesses, this
modern Semiratnis held the reins of govern
ment with a firm, unshrinking hand, and
devoted ail her energies to her own aggrand
izement and the glory of the nation. We
speak not of the crimes that blackened, the
shame that crimsoned, her character. The
question is the intellectual power, not the mo
ral purity of theses': to the last, the very name
of Catharine affixed a stain, which all the
icy waters of the northern seas could never
efface.
Woman was not born to be a warrior.
But when has manly valor wrought more
wondrous deeds, than were achieved by Boa
dicea,Queen of ancient Britain? Whether
we see her standing on an elevated ground,
in full view of her oppressed subjects, ani
i mating them by prospects of victory and ve;i- \
geance, leaning on her spear, her long hair :
streaming like a war banner on the gale, or
driving her triumphal chariot over the bodies
of the slain, we recognize the same warrior
spii it, that directs the whirlwind and rules
the storm of destiny.
Nature never formed woman for the rude
! scenes of political strife, but where in the
■ bloody records of the French Revolution is i
there a name more illustrious than the un
daunted Roland, who stood boldly at her bus
hand’s side, avowing and sustaining his sen
timents at the hazard of her life, and when
that life was forfeited, willingly poured out
her blood at the shrine of that Liberty where
! she had worshipped with more than Eastern
idolatry ?
Woman was not formed to be the defender
of the strong, yet how often has her bosom
been the shield of him, who is called her
guardian and her lord ? The forests of Ameri
| ea are hallowed by the memory of Pocahon
tas, who sheltered in her arms the gallant
Smith, and confronted the death-blow that
was destined to lay him low.
The mind of woman is thought incapable
of grasping the mighty volume of the abstract
sciences. Among those who might be cited
as illustrious contradictions to this remark,
the name of Gabrieße de Chatelet is presented
to the memory. She was the fellow-student
of Voltaire, and travelled with him through
J the sublime mazes ©f philosophy, “unwound
the eternal dances of the sky,” and wrote her
I name among the stars, in characters of light, j
° ° j
| by the side of a Newton and a Leibnitz. She j
j studied the works of Newton, which are
: written in Latin, “and the study of an
| abstract science in a dead language,” says
her biographer, “requires no common powers
! of mind.”
We have brought forward these few exam- j
pies to prove the mental capabilities of wo- j
| man, but we would not alter the course mark- j
ed out by Him, who directs the planets in j
their brilliant paths, and preserves the eternal
harmony of the spheres. “There is one glory
j of the sun, and another glory of the moon,”
but they are both glorious, and both derive
their glory from the exhaustless fountain of
j uncreated light. Were woman to leave her
j own, for mans more sun-like sphere, what
account can she render of her own neglect
;ed duties, her own deserted orbit? It is her
hand which God appointed to trace the first
! characters on man’s unwritten mind, and woe
be to her, if there be imprinted there, aught
that “is not lovely, venerable, or of good re
port,” aught that angels may .not read, or
i the eye of Infinite Purity survey.
The pilgrim, weary and panting beneath
the rays of a sultry sail, seats himself under
j the shade of a majestic oak and rejoices in
; the shelter of its spreading branches, emblem
of the strength of man. The soft gale re
freshes his fervid brow, and he drinks of the
dew from the flower-cup that blooms protect
ed by that mighty tree. The gale and the
dew are emblems of the gentleness and ten-j
derness of woman. Yet in that gale and dew
are the elements of the tempest and the ocean,
of grandeur and power. But the strong wind
and the beating wave would oppress and en
danger the weary pilgrim, instead of refresh
ing and restoring him.
When the undeluged earth lay cold and
I still dripping from its awful baptism, God sent
I forth a wind to dry its surface and prepare it j
; for anew vegetation. God sends forth his !
{ own missionaries, and blessed are those who
perform the work allotted them by the Omni- ‘
scient Taskmaster. Trie pilgrim rises and ;
pursues his solitary way, blessing God for the j
shadow of the mighty oak, for the coolness
of the gale and the sweet falling of the dew.
They are all the missionaries of Heaven.
But the robber lurks in the solitary way,
and the hand of violence is lifted against his
life. The arm of the strong and the bravo
comes between him and destruction, and the
wounded but protected is borne to the home
of his preserver. There the gentle hand of
woman binds up his wounds, her mild voice
whb .is comfort in his ear, and her soft steps
linger around his couch.
“Oh ! how beautiful/’ exclaims the pil- j
grim, “is the arrangement of the works of I
Providence. The same power that spread
out the shadowing branches of the forest tree,
gave to man the arm of strength to strike
down the oppressor in his pride; and the
same mercy that filled with dew the chalice
of the forest flower, created woman with the
pitying soul and the healing hand, to bind up
the wounds of sorrow and of sin, and to
smooth the path of the way-faring man
through the wilderness of life.”
Is nat the way-faring man the emblem of
him who is going on in his pilgrimage through
the wilderness of this world, and may we not
exclaim with him—“ Oil! how beautiful and
harmonious is the arrangement of the works
of Providence ?”
.
THE BLACK MASK.
BV MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ.
“No, l will not go to-night,” exclaimed
Blanche, taking from her head a bandeau of
pearls and tossing it into die hands of her at
tendant. “No, 1 will not go—l am weary
most of all of talking and listening to non
sense. 1 will stay at home, and enjoy the
supreme luxuries of simplicity, quiet and sol
itude. Yes! solitude ! for dear Mrs. Chan
ning is gone to an old-fashioned tea-party,
and you, Elsie, are not to disturb me, after
l have once composed myself to the task of j
admiring myself, by myself.’’
“But this beautiful dress?” cried her obse
quious chambermaid.
“Put it back in the wardrobe.”
“These pearls ?”
“In the case.”
“These flowers?”
“Ah! give me the flowers. They are beau
tiful, they breathe of nature, and I love them.
Here, take this heavy comb from my hair,”
continued the capricious beauty, and then
shaking her hair loosely over her shoulders
and untying the bouquet, she twisted the
flowers into a careless garland and twined it
round her head.
“And now, Elsie, give me that simple white
robe, fastened with blue ribbons. You must
confess it is ten thousand times prettier than
| the one you have just put aside. Ah. me! 1
wish I were nothing hut a plain country lassie,
left to wander about at my own sweet will.’’ j
“1 think somebody has her own sweet will j
now,” said Elsie to herself, vexed to think
that her young and beautiful mistress was go
ing to shut herself up at home, instead of ex
hibiting herself to the admiring crowd.
“But what shall I say to Mr. Orne, when
he calls to attend you ?”
“ Tell him I cannot, will not go to-night.”
“He will be angry.”
“I care not—but he is too stupid to be an
gry. Beside, he has no cause, for l gave no
promise to accompany him.’’
Elsie, who was accustomed to the varying
modes of Blanche, sighed as she put away the
beautiful paraphernalia of fashion with which
she had hoped to adorn her mistress for the
evening’s fete, while Blanche, telling her she
had no further need of her services, descended |
to the little room she called her boudoir.—
And a charming little room it was—a perfect j
bijou of a room—fitting palace for a fairy j
queen. It is no wonder that she liked some- !
times to rest on that soft, blue-cushioned sola, i
and look around on all the exquisite adorn
j inents her own taste had selected. Curtains
j of blue damask, her favorite color, shaded j
! the window; the glass doors of her cabinet
were lined with the same cerulean hue ; and j
even the figures of the carpet were blue, melt- |
ing off in a background of white. Little Cu
pids, painted in fresco, on the ceiling, seemed
to fan her with their wings, and Cupids still
smaller, fashioned of marble, supported the
j lamps that glittered on the mantel-piece.—
I There were ever so man\’ Cupids, little, less,
i least, bronze, porcelain and glass, on the I
j shelves of the etagere, which looked like a
roval babv-house, with its magical toys and
indescribable curiosities. The only thing of j
use on which the eye could rest was a mag
nificent harp, supported by a lazy-looking
■ Cupid, lurking in the corner of the apartment,!
thus throwing the illusion of mythology and
poetry over an instrument in itself most poet
ical and romantic. Blanche gathered back
the azure folds of the curtains into the gilded
hands that issued from the walls, ready to
grasp them, drew the light sofa near the win
■ dew, and seating herself upon it. looked ‘
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 20, 1852.
admirably in keeping with all surrounding
objects. She, too, wore the livery of white
j and blue, and soft and bright sparkled her
| bright blue eyes beneath her white brow.—
Her heart, moreover, was clothed with the
whiteness of innocence, and the blue of hope
! fluttered gaily as a silken ribbon over a spot
less surface. Though the child of wealth,
and the idol of fashion, she was yet unspoil
ed by their influence. Her caprices were
white, fleecy clouds, floating over the clear
blue of an April morning. One thing more j
completed the livery. Blanche, sweet, charm
ing, capricious, blue eyed Blanche, with sor
row we confess it, had a tinge of the blues. —
Listen to her thoughts, as they move with j
; their low whispers the folds of her muslin
robe:
“I want to be alone, and yet I want
someone near to whom lean sav—‘How
sweet it is to be alone.’ The pleasures of
society—how I panted for them when 1 was !
a foolish little school girl, pining for liberty
that I cannot now enjoy. And for a while,
I did enjoy them vividly, wildly. It was en
rapturing to be thought beautiful, to be admi
red and caressed and loved. Loved ? No.
I have never yet been really loved. Love
i disdains flattery and adulation. My own
1 heart will bear witness when it is true and
j honest. ‘Yes,’ added §he, laying her hand
i on its gentle, uniform throbbing, ‘the voice i
i has never yet breathed into my ears that can
j quicken the pulsations of this heart of mine.
I look in vain among the cold, vapid devo- !
tees of fashion for one touch of nature, j
one flash of passion. I shall mingle with ;
them till I become as cold, as vain, as vapid |
myself. I shall live and die, and the world i
will never know what I might have been,
from what 1 am, and what I shall be.’
“And yet,” added the ennuyee, “I am
wrong to say I have never yet been loved.—
Ti lere is one I know, who, I believe, loves me |
well, and whom I have sometimes thought I
might love in return, did I meet him any
where save in the cold halls of fashion.—
Could he throw any romance, any mystery
around him, I might possibly become intcr
| ested in him. There would be nothing hero
ic or self-sacrificing in my loving him, for for
tune smiles upon him, and friends are zealous
to promote his cause. Were he poor, I could
enrich him with my wealth. Were he lowly,
I could ennoble him with my connections ;
or were / poor and lowly, he could prove the
disinterestedness of his attachment. I can
not bear this common-place kind of wooifig, |
this dull, matter-of-fact kind of existence.— j
I could envy the wild love of O’Connor’s j
child, ‘the hud of Erin’s royal tree of glorv,’ ;
though thrice-dyed in blood was the tissue j
of her mournful story.”
If the remarks of Blanche seem incohe- j
rent, let it be remembered that she isconvers- j
ing with herself, and every one knows how i
wildly the thoughts may run, when imagina
tion is let loose.
“Let me see,” said the romantic damsel;
“cannot I do something to charm the solitude
that already begins to weary me? Ah, there
is my harp ; 1 do love its sounding strains.—
How charming it would be to have some
young hero bending over me as I play, while
I drank in inspiration from his kindling
eyes!”
Drawing the harp near her, slio passed her
hand over its golden chords, and made a sweet
wild medley of strains, caught up from many
a remembered song. Her hair, as it swept
over her white arms, against the glittering
wires, resembled the golden locks of the
maiden whose ringlets were twined into the
chords, from which such exquisite music has
been drawn. Long she played and sang, till
the little Cupids on the walls looked as if
they were flying about inspired by her thrill
ing notes. She did not hear trie sound of en
tering footsteps ; but a shadow fell upon the
liar]), and she looked up. A tall and irk figure
stood before her, black from head to foot.—
Supposing it a negro who had thus boldly in
truded into her presence, she uttered an ex
clamation of terror, and sprang towards the
door.
“Pardon this intrusion,” said the stranger,
in a gentle voice, bowing gracefully as bo
spoke; “I did not mean to terrify, and if you
will grant tne a few moments’ audience,
you will find you have no cause of fear.”
She observed with astonishment, that the
hand which he slightly extended in speaking
was almost as fair as her own, while his face
was as black as night. Still trembling with
terror, though somewhat re-assured by the
sweetness of his voice, she ventured to look
on him more steadfastly, and discovered
that he wore a mask of black enamel, above
which his raven black hair clustered, making
of the head one ebon mass.
“How did you gain admittance ?” she ask
ed, tremulously. “And what is your errand
with me ?”
“ Will you forgive me,” he answered, “when
I say, that, attracted by the sweetness of
your voice, as it was borne through the open
windows, by the breath of night, I have dar
ed to present myself before you, believing
that the same instinct which caused my pre
sumption will plead for my pardon, and se- j
cure my welcome ?”
“Indeed, sir,” exclaimed Blanche, her cheek ;
glowing with anger, “this is an intrusion I j
consider unpardonable. As neither pardon
tior welcome awaits you here, I trust you will ;
leave me immediately. To a gentleman, the I
request of a lady has the authority of a com- ;
mand.”
Blanche was astonished at her own eourage |
in thus daring to address the masked and mys- !
terious stranger. Though angry at his pre
sumption, she could not repress a keen delight
at an adventure so singular and romantic.—
The indescribable charm of his voice had dis
armed her terror and the grace and dignity of
his mien spoke the polished and high-bred
gentleman. But the black inask—the sudden
entrance—the lonely hour—the stillness of
the night—these things pressed upon her
heart, and its throbbings became quick and j
loud.
“Permit me,” said the stranger, “before I
depart, to repay you, if possible, for the j
soothing pleasure your music has imparted. !
I, too, am a son of song, and like the bards
of Ossian, I love to wake the breezy melody |
of the harp-string.”
While he was speaking, he approached j
the instrument from which she had retreated
at his entrance, and kneeling on one knee,
he swept his hands over the chords, making
a prelude of such surpassing sweetness, she
held her breatli to listen. Then mingling !
with the diapason the rich tones of his voice, I
he Logan a song whose words seemed the !
improvisation of genius, for they applied to i
herself, the hour, the meeting, in strains of I
such wondrous melody, she felt under the do- ;
minion of enchantment. Never before had J
she heard such music as came gushing !
through that ebon mask, filling the room with \
a flood of harmony which almost drowned 1
her sinking spirit. Enable to bear up under
the new and overpowering emotions that!
were oppressing her, she sunk back on the
Sofa, and tears stole from her downcast
jeyes.
The stranger paused, and rising, leaned .
: gracefully on the harp from which he had j
been calling forth such celestial notes.
! “You weep,” said he ; “but they are not |
tears of sorrow. You would not exchange j
those tears for the false smiles which would j
have gilded your face had you mingled in the .
crowd, an instinct of your heart led you this !
night to avoid. You shunned the giddy |
throng. You sought the solitude of this de- i
licious apartment only that you might meet a j
kindred spirit here. Farewell! we shall meet j
again. No earthly barrier could now keep
us asunder.”
Stooping down and picking ap a rose that
had fallen from her hair, and putting it in his
bosom, he added—
“ This flower shall be sent to you as a to
ken when 1 am again near.”
He turned, and was about to leave the
apartment, when, urged by irresistible curios
ity, she exclaimed—
“ Before you depart, let me behold the face I
! of iny mysterious friend, and tell ine why
you wear so strange and solemn a disguise.”
“1 cannot break a vow that I have irnpo
j sed on myself,” replied the black-masked
stranger. “It is only at the nuptial altar that
l can lift the dark visor which conceals my
features. The woman who can love me
well enough to unite her fate with mine, un
knowing what this mask conceals, whether it
be matchless beauty or unequalled deformity, j
will alone have power to remove the disguise
whose midnight shadow now darkens the
moonlight of your beauty. Do you believe
that spiritual, high-smiled, trusting woman
exists ? Do you believe such love can be
found ?”
“1 know nothing of love,” she answered,
endeavoring to speak coldly; but her voice j
unconsciously obeyed the spell that was up ;
on her, and its modulations were soft as the
breathings of her own dulcet harp.
“Happy is he who will teach us its divine
; lore,” said the stranger, again seating himself
|by her side. “O, maiden, more beautiful
i than the dream of the poet, more pure than
! the vision of infancy,” continued he, in a
| strain of romantic enthusiasm, suchasshe nev
| er had expected to hear from mortal lips, “be
it mine to instill this wisdom into the heart
| that is even now sighing to receive it. Mine
i be the master-hand that will touch the golden
chords of sympathy, and awaken all your
slumbering being to the music of love.”
“O, that I dared to believe, that 1 dared to
listen.” cried Blanche, carried out of herself
by an influence that seemed electric ; “but
this interview, so sudden, so mysterious,
your strange vow, your dark eclipse, the com
manding power you exert over my will—ah,
leave me. 1 cannot bear the oppression that
is weighing down my heart.”
“1 obey you,” he cried, again rising. “For
worlds, I would not encroach on the goodness
that has forgiven my presumption, or the gen
tleness and sensibility that plead even now,
with eloquent tongue, the cause of your mys
terious friend. Farewell. For the rose of
which I have robbed you, accept this dia
mond ring.”
“Taking her hand and encircling her fin
ger with the brilliant token, he passed
through the door like a vision of night, leav
ing her speechless and spell bound. So
startling, so thrilling was the pressure, she
sat like one in a nightmare. She had almost
imagined herself in a dream, in the presence
of her mysterious guest; but the warm, soft
pressure of that ungloved hand assured her j
of the reality of the scene. Then the ring
that glittered on her finger with such surpass
ing brightness, the golden circle with its star
like gem that seemed to burn into her flesh,
so strongly did it warm and accelerate the
current that was glowing and rushing through i
her veins! Astonished, bewildered, terrified, |
but charmed at a romance so exceeding her j
wildest hopes, she flew up stairs to her dress- !
ingroom, where Elsie sat slumbering in an !
easy chair, thus beguiling the time of her j
mistress’s absence. Blanche had always
made a confidant of Elsie, and now her heart
would have burst with its strange secret if
she could not have confided it to another.—
She awoke the slumbering girl, and related
the astonishing, the almost incredible inci
dent.
“Impossible!” cried Elsie, “it must have
been a delusion of the senses”
“But this ring. This surely is a reality.
Did you ever see anything so surpassingly
brilliant?” and she turned the radiant token
till it flashed back the lamplight dazzlingly in
to the wondering eyes of the girl.
“O, for the love of the blessed Virgin!”
she exclaimed, (Elsie was a devout Catho- ‘
lie,) “for the love of your own sweet soul, |
don’t wear it. It is a magic ring, lam sure, !
and the black man that put it there may be
Lucifer himself, for aught you know.”
“Mv good Elsie, how can you be so fool- j
ishand superstitious? Even if I could be- I
lieve in the incarnation of an evil spirit, it
never could assume a form so gracious, or
speak in a voice so sweet. O, never did I
hear such a voice of music! Though I
could not see his face, his eves beamed re
splendently through his mask, and his hand is
the fairest I ever beheld.”
“But why should he put on that ugly mask, i
unless he has some evil purpose ?”
“lie is under a vow to wear it till” ;
Blanche paused and blushed, and then 1
blushed more painfully, because she was so !
foolish as to blush at all.
“I have no doubt he wears it to cover some j
horrible mark,” cried Elsie, shuddering and 1
crossing herself.
“Impossible.”
“I dare say he has the face of a skeleton
underneath. I have heard of such things.”
“Silente, Elsie ; it is sacrilege to talk as
you do.”
But though Elsie bridled her tongue, the
disagreeable impression her words bad pro
duced still remained. The possibility of
their truth chilled the glowing romance of I
Blanche’s feelings, and checked the enthusi
asm with which remembrance dwelt on her
mysterious visitor. Blanche bound Elsie by
a promise not to mention the incident to Mrs ■
i Chiinning, the lady who acted as maternal
guardian to the orphan Blanche, and presi
! ded over the mansion of her youthful charge.
All the next day Blanche remained in a kind
1 of dreamy abstraction, the color coming
’ and going on her beautiful cheek, and her
I soft blue eyes suffused with a misty languor
I Sometimes she delighted herself ru picturing
the features that the shrouding mask concealed
as the ideal of manly beauty; then again the
horrible suggestions of Elsie would recur
| to her and fill her with nameless apprehen
: sions. She thought of the veiled Prophet of
I Khorassaiv the doom of the helpless Zelica,
| and the unutterable horrors concealed by the
silver veil. She remembered the beautiful
Leonora, and the phantom horseman, whose j
skeleton visage was hidden bv the closed !
bars of his visor, and who bore his confiding :
bride to the ghastly church-yard and tin
yawning grave. She remembered that his
form wore the semblance of manly grace, and
that his voice had a tone of more than earthly
sweetness.
“How foolish, how childish I am,” thought
she, smiling at the superstitious images on
which she had been dwelling. “The silver
veiled Mokanna and the Phantom Husband
of Leonora were beings existing only in the
imagination of the poet, whom the genius of
the painter has also delineated. But the
black-iffiisked stranger is a living, breathing
actuality, of whose existence and presence I
have a dazzling token.”
Another idea disturbed her excited brain.
Perhaps she was the sport of some bold youth,
who, knowing her romantic temperament,
had thus sought to play upon her credulity
and expose her to the ridicule of the world.
So strong became this conviction that when
evening came on and she was summoned, as
usual, to entertain her admiring visitors, she
fancied she could trace in many forms a si
militude to the lineaments of the graceful
stranger. But no. It was an illusion of the
imagination. No figure half so graceful, no !
voice half so sweet as his. Never had the
conversation of her companions seemed half
so uninteresting and commonplace, never had
the hours appeared so long and leaden. She
played upon her harp, but tier own strains re
called the ravishing melody of his, and her
hands trembled as they swept the sound
ing strings. She talked and smiled and tried
to chain her wandering thoughts, but they
would stray far out into the moonlight night,
where fancy followed the dark form of the
stranger. As her white hands threaded the
golden wires, the diamond ring flashed upon
her eye its ominous splendor and filled her
with wild emotions.
“St. Cecilia called down an angel from the
skies,” said one of her guests, gazing upon the I
gem that coruscated upon her finger, “hut |
you seem to have drawn one of the stars of;
heaven from its home in the skies, to sparkle
upon your hand. There must be a magic in !
that ring, for never did your harp discourse
such witching music.”
Blanche turned away her face to hide her
conscious blushes, and at the same time the
words of Elsie, foolish and superstitious as
they were, occurred to her, and the roseate
cloud melted away in the whiteness of snow.
One bv one her guests departed and she
was left alone. She listened to the echo of
their departing footsteps, till the stillness of
death pervaded the apartment. She could
distinctly hear the quick beatings of her heart,
and her robe fluttered as visibly over its pal
pitations as the azure curtains rustling in the
soft breath of night.
“Why do 1 linger here ?” said she, looking I
out into the calm majesty and loveliness of a
cloudless evening. “I will not remain, as if
seeking an interview with one whose fasci
nations, I feel, l never could resist. Where
there is mystery, there is always danger. I
thank mv guardian angel for whispering this
caution to my heart.”
At this moment, something flew like a light- i
winged bird by her cheek, and fell rustling at |
her feet. It was something enveloped in a i
soft, white tissue. She opened it and beheld ;
her own faded rose; while she gazed with]
mingled shame and delight on the sweet but
wilted token, the soft sound of entering foot- !
steps met her ear, and the tall, black-masked
! stranger stood before her.
She no longer feared him. She even wel
comed his approach with a strange rapture,
that sent the warm blood bounding through
her veins and eddying in her cheeks. He
I sat down by her side and his low, sweet, mel
low voice uttered words of wondrous fasci
nation. She listened like one entranced, for
getting the fate of Zelica and the doom of
Leonora. Indeed had she known that the
same dark destiny awaited her, she could not
have broken the spell that enthralled her.—
For hours he lingered at lier side, while his ;
eyes,like stars shining through a midnight!
cloud, were beaming with mysterious splen
dor upon her brow. Her will bowed before j
bis mighty will, and, ere she was aware of
the act, she had sealed her heart's warrant j
for life or death- She had consented to fol- I
low him to the altar and unveil with her rasli-i
and daring hand the brow now covered with
so dark an eclipse.
ou love me,” cried the stranger, while
his voice trembled with ecstacy; “you love 1
me, with that pure, spiritual love, which, born j
on earth, is but a type of an immortal wed- j
lock. You will love me still, whatever be the \
features this gloomy mask conceals. Be they
those of a fiend, you will not love me less.
Be they those of an angel, you will not love
me more.”
And Blanche bowed her fair bead on his !
shoulder, and was constrained to utter —
“Angel or fiend, l must love thee still.” !
“I o inorrovv, then,at this hour, I shall come
and claim thee for my bride. Nay, speak
not of delay, for my destiny must be fulfilled, j
You shall know when I am near, but not by |
this faded token. The pledge of my coming
shall breathe of life and joy and hope.”
Pressing her hand gracefully to his heart,
he disappeared, while Blanche trembled and
wept at the remembrance of the vow she had
plighted. Released from the magic of his 1
presence, she saw her rashness, her madness
and infatuation in their true light. She felt
she was rushing blindfold to the verge of per- !
dition. She was terrified at the intensity of
her emotions. Better were it for her heart to ‘
remain in the torpor over which it had been j
mourning, than awake to a sense of life so
keen as almost to amount to agony. She
was like the blind, suddenly restored to sight,
with a flood of noonday glory pouring on the
lately darkened vision. She was fainting
from excess of light.
Softly -ho ascended to her chamber, so as .
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NO. 9.
not to arouse the sleeping Elsie, whose re
marks she now dreaded to hear; but so light
were her slumbers, they vanished at the soft
rustle of Blanche’s muslin robe.
“1 saw him,” she cried, dispersing the mist
of sleep from her eyelids; “l saw him from
the window as he entered, and I have been
praying the blessed Virgin ever since to shield
you from harm.”
“You must have been praying in your
sleep, then,” said Blanche.
“O, dear mistress, do not see him again.
You will find lie is some murderer, who has a
brand on his forehead”
“Stop, Elsie,” cried the shuddering Blanche.
“It is slander. I will not permit it.”
“And, besides,” continued the persevering
girl, “I dare say the barbarians have cut o'fF
his nose and cropped his ears into the bar
gain. People never hide their beauty under a
mask.”
“Elsie, leave my room, if you cannot be
silent,” said Blanche, with rising courage.
Elsie obeyed her, but muttered something
about sulphur and hoofs, as she closed the
door behind her.
“How very i npertinent Elsie is growing!”
cried Blanche, throwing herself weeping up.
on the bed. “But how can 1 expect to retain
the respect of a maid, when I have forfeited
my own self-esteem ? Alas! what if her sur
mises be true! What if the brand of indelible
disgrace be stamped upon that brow where I
have imagined more than mortal beauty
dwells! What if, instead of a nose, which
Phidias might have taken as a model for ono
of the gods of Greece, there should be only a
frightful cavity, a horrible disfigurement!”
Becoiling at the awful picture Elsie’s fer
tile imagination had conjured, she spread her
hands before her face to shut out a vision so
appalling. It was strange—in his presence
she had a perfect conviction that his mask
concealed the face of an angel, while in his
absence the conviction faded, and the most
terrific fancies usurped its place !
“O, that I could recall m3’ fatal pledge!”
she cried to herself, as she tossed upon her
restless couch. “But it is given, and be it for
weal or woe, I must abide b}’ the result.”
The next evening, Mrs. Guamiing, tho
kind, maternal friend, whom Blanche had so
dearly loved, remained by her, as it drawn
towards her by some unusual attraction.
Never had she been so tender, so affectionate.
Blanche gazed upon her with bitter self
reproach, thinking how ill she was about to
requite her guardian cares. She longed to
throw her arms around her neck, reveal her
secret, and pray her to save her from the de
lusions of her own heart,
j “l fear you are not well, m3’ sweet child,”
j said the lady, in soothing accents. “Indeed,
j I have noticed, all day, that you have looked
j feverish and ill. Do not sit in the night air,
jin that thin dress, too. Why, 1113’ dear, vou
! are dressed like a bride. I did not know that
you were going abroad to-night. I fear this
life of pleasure will wilt the roses of your
youth”
“I have promised to go,’’ she said, avoiding
the glance of her friend, “and I cannot break
my word. But it is the last time—indeed, it
is the last.”
While she was speaking a white rose-bud
fell at her feet.
“See,” said Mrs. Channing, smiling, “see
what the breeze has blown to you. It must
be a token of happiness—fit emblem of your
beauty and innocence.”
“Do you think it a token of happiness?”
cried Blanche, eagerly gathering up the well*
; known signal. “Thank you for the words.
Igo with a lighter heart. Farewell, kindest
and best of friends. Heaven bless you for
ever and ever.”
Pressing her quivering lips on the placid
forehead she might never again behold, she
glided from the room. She dreaded meeting
i Elsie, but was compelled to go to her chain*
] her for her mantle imd veil, and there she en*
I countered her faithful and remonstrating
friend. When Blanche, with a face as pale
as marble, threw her mantle over her should
ers, and cast a light veil over her golden
locks, Elsie seemed to divine her purpose and
] entreated her to remain.
“O, it is like a bride you are dressed,” she
cried, “with those pearls on your neck and
; arms, and that beautiful white rose-bud on
I 3’our bosom.”
Blanche could not leave her faithful attend
] ant without some memorial of her love. Open
i mg heir jewel case, she took out a costly neck*
i lace and ring.
“ I’ake these,” she said, “as a memento of
my attachment, and as a reward for your fi
delity. Betray me not, on your soul’s life,
and may the blessed Virgin you worship be
propitious to you as you are true to me.”
Elsie suffered the jewels to fall from her
hand, and casting herself at the feet of
Blanche, she wrapped her arms about her
i knees, and implored her, with tears and sobs,
| not to go with that dreadful man.
“Release me,” cried Blanche, ready to faint
i with conflicting emotions. “Delay me not a
1 moment longer.” ‘Then snatching her mantle
h orn her grasp, and leaving her prostrate and
I weeping on the floor, she flew down stairs,
through the open door, and found herself in
the arms of that dark and nameless being, to
whom she was about to confide herself forev
er. He bore her, almost fainting, into a car
riage that was waiting at the gate, and the
hordes, black as night, started off at a furious
speed. They left the crowded city far be
hind them, and rode out into the open fields,
where the moonbeams, unobstructed by high
granite walls, shone resplendently on her pal
i lid face and the polished surface of his enam
el mask.
“Whither are yon bearing me ?” she faint*
ly asked, as the small pebbles flashed fire be
neath the horses’ flying hoofs.
“10 a second Eden, where love immortal
blooms, he answered, folding her close to
his heart. Forward the3’ went, with the same
bewildering speed. The trees swept by them,
like dark-green spirits in a rushing dance.
Tall monuments, gleaming white and ghostly,
ghastly and cold, shot swiftly by them in the
quivering moonshine.
] “O! whither are you hearing me?” again
j she asked, almost expecting him to answer:
j “See there, see here, the moon shines clear—-
Hurrah, how swiftly speeds the dead!”
“I am hearing vou to the gate of Heaven,”
he replied; “for surely the house of God is
such. Far away in the deep woods there is a
| Gothic church, where a holy priest is waiting
; to crown with his blessing the purest, deep
; est love that ever bound two trusting hearts
in one.”